


A Prayer and A Blessing

by the_most_beautiful_broom



Series: Tumblr Prompts [8]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, F/M, just very soft and very sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-19
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2019-05-08 20:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14701716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_most_beautiful_broom/pseuds/the_most_beautiful_broom
Summary: For the prompt "Write a kiss...as an encouragement."





	A Prayer and A Blessing

The first time Bellamy says it, Clarke stares at him like she doesn’t believe him.

**I love you.**

Bursting out of his lungs, tearing from him, like he can’t help himself. After six years of knowing it to be true, carrying it and knowing he could never let her know, now that she’s here and she’s listening, and looking at him like that, he can’t say anything else.

And for a moment, it’s perfect.

Her mouth parts in surprise and her eyes search his and he sees all the lines of worry and stress ease, and she rests in the weight of his words. She must read it on his face, must see something that convinces her, and she lets out a slow breath, like at last she can rest.

But then panic flashes behind her eyes, and her mouth snaps shut and remorse floods her expression, and he can’t bear it.

Pulls her into a hug, tells her that he didn’t say it for reciprocity’s sake. Whispers, with his arms running up and down her back, that she can take her time, and if she says it right away or never, it won’t change how he feels. What kind of I love you is conditional? He tells her because it’s true, because she’s amazed to hear it, and because he spent so long biting it back that he can’t help himself.

And she relaxes again, slowly, her arms coming up to wrap around his waist, her gratitude unspoken.

The next time he says it, it slips out on a laugh.

She looks over at him, face stilling, then her smile stretches wider, and she revels in it. They’re laughing, they’re happy, he loves her; these are facts.

She asks him to say it one night, when she wakes up, shaking from a nightmare that won’t recede. And he does, whispers it into her hair, against her skin, until she falls asleep against him.

Each time, the words are special, a prayer and a blessing. A reminder of where they’ve come from and who they are and he’s happy that she can hear them.

One night, he joins her by the fire, the flames throwing long shadows over her face. She looks up when he walks over, slides over so he can sit beside her on the log, settling into his side when his arm wraps around her shoulders.

“Does it bother you?” she asks, softly, scared.

And his mind races, trying to think if anything she’s done since he’s been back on the ground has truly bothered him, before giving up. “Does what?”

Her mouth turns up in a gentle smile and her elbow shifts, pushing into his ribs. But she’s not actually upset, because her arm stays there, elbow propped on his leg as she leans into him. She purses her lips, staring into the fire. “That I haven’t said it back,” she admits.

“No,” he says instantly, but he feels her doubt. So he pulls her tighter and shrugs. “They’re words, Clarke. They mean a lot to me because I thought I’d never get to say them. But to have you here, to have this…”

He trails off, amazed as always that they have this. That she can be in his arms, that they can be still, that they can just be at all. It’s a marvel and a miracle, and he would trade all the words in the galaxy for it.

“It is something, isn’t it?” she muses, and he presses a kiss to the top of her head.

The sit there for a while, listening to the fire crackling, and then she shakes herself.

Pulls herself away from him, turning to face him, half her face in firelight and the rest of it in shadows, but her eyes glistening.

“I want to say it,” she says steadily.

And his heart just melts within him, because what else would she do? She’s Clarke Griffin; she’s always going to look out for everybody else, try to make him happy, no matter what it costs her. So he shakes his head, his eyes fond as his hand comes up to rest along the side of her face. She leans into it, the warmth of her cheeks on one side and the flame of the fire on the other.

“You know you don’t have to,” he says, dipping his head to meet her eyes. And she smiles, almost, her mouth turning upwards as she looks back into him.

“I know,” she says softly, “but I think I need to. So I know I won’t lose you.”

His thumb strokes against her cheeks, and her eyes flutter as she tries to steady herself. And she looks so stoic, so nervous that he can’t help but close the distance between them. He brushes his lips over hers, gentle and encouraging, and she leans into him. He pulls back just a bit and her eyes are still closed. She lifts her chin, needing to be closer.

“Say it?” she breathes, and Bellamy would say anything, if she asked like this.

“I love you,” he says, his voice deep and honest and the words settle over her. Her eyes open, blue as the sky, as the sea, as hope, and blinks up at him. And her expression is peaceful, somewhat awestruck, as her lips part again and she pulls in a steadying breath.

“I love you, too.”

His smile is too wide to properly kiss her, and they’re both pretending that their eyes aren’t shining with tears and brimming with emotion, so his hand just stays on her cheek, caressing the soft skin there, and he drinks in the site of her, the woman he loves, who loves him too.


End file.
